Page 75 of Put a Rink on It

We finish lunch, mostly chatting about her job prospects, and then prepare the cookies.

“I saved a reel with one that looked good. I’m not as good as Tate, but I can hold my own, so hopefully they’re decent enough.”

I box her in, her back against the counter, my hands flush on the edge. “No matter what, I’ll eat your cookie, Ships. You can count on it.”

She peers up at me, her eyes wide with surprise and another undetected emotion, her chest moving in faster clips. “Will you?”

“Always.” My lips connect with hers for a nibble, but she leans into it, pressing against mine with fervor. Her hands wrap around my neck, tugging me closer. I slide my legs wider to accommodate the height difference, never severing the kiss.

I don’t know why I thought I could live without her kisses. One taste a few weeks ago was enough to unearth hidden feelings of lust and desire, a buried yearning for her. Under the guise of the fake engagement and the besties with benefits, it’s a win-win for me. I can kiss her whenever I want, selfishly taking what I need.

She breaks the kiss far too soon, her closed eyes slowly fluttering open, lust darkening her glacial orbs. “Cookies,” she breathes out. “We’re making cookies.” She scoots out from underneath me, and I adjust myself. “Grab the flour and sugar from the pantry. Oh, and the baking powder and walnuts, please.”

Reluctantly, I stride to the pantry, my cock unhappy it’s not time to play.

Grabbing the ingredients, I return to the kitchen. She’s pulled her hair into a messy knot, sitting askew on her head. Quiet music plays from her phone, and she bops around the kitchen to the rhythm. She’s adorable, and I love how she’s comfortable here, as if she lived here permanently and wasn’t staying for a few weeks.

“We should talk about you moving in here,” ejects from my mouth.

“Okay.”

I set the ingredients on a free space on the counter and lean against it. “Okay?”

“Yeah. It’s a conversation we’ve been putting off. I’m ready now. When do you want me to move in?”

For a beat, I think she’s kidding, that her nonchalant attitude must surely be a joke. So I toss out, “Starting this weekend when we’re home in Vermont. Think it’s too tight a deadline to hire movers?”

“For the right price, nope. If that’s something you want to spend your money on.”

“And if I do?” I prod, folding my arms across my chest. I wasn’t prepared for her to be so amenable to this plan I’ve just concocted.

She faces me, the phone in her hand paused on a video. “Then I guess I’ll be moving this weekend.”

“Just like that?”

She quirks a brow and props her free hand on her hip. “You want me to say no?”

“I want you here. All the time. Even when I’m not. Does that make me self-centered?”

“It makes sense for our arrangement.”

“Which part?” While I wait for her answer, I busy myself by unwrapping the butter.

“The whole fake engaged one. It makes sense I’d move here to be with you, especially after doing the whole long-distance thing.”

“And the other part?” My breath stalls in my chest, wondering what she’s going to say. I don’t want her here only for the public. For the sake of my image.

I want her here because I enjoy her company. I like coming home to her and knowing she’s spending her days in my space.

She shrugs. “Sex is much easier if we’re together.”

“And you’re okay leaving Vermont?”

“It’s not that far. I love my family, but I can be there in a few hours if needed, and vice versa. It’s not a plane ride away from any of the people I love anymore.”

My heart stutters on the “anymore,” but I can’t let it show. I can’t be certain she’s talking about me.

“What if you hate living with me?” Why I ask is anyone’s guess. I don’t want her to entertain the idea. Not even a little.